The morning autumn sun shone brightly, but did not yield much warmth, as early next morning found Sam well on his way toward the distant Tower Hills, and a long overdue visit with his firstborn daughter, Elanor and her family. The Fairbairns had a lovely home at Undertowers, with plenty of room for their growing family. Sam found himself thinking about his two newest grandchildren, whom he had never seen. His eyes fairly sparkled with delight at the thought of finally having the chance to bounce them on his knee.

'Though these old knees o' mine ain't as good as they used to be,' mused Sam. 'Still, I reckon they'll hold up well enough,' he chuckled to himself.

Sam released a sigh of great contentment as he rode west along the Road, mounted upon the nutbrown pony that Merry had kindly arranged for him. It was a good-natured creature; although well-behaved, it kept up a lively pace and was not lazy. Sam knew from Merry that the pony was called Acorn, which to Sam's mind was a fine name for a good, sturdy hobbit pony - though not quite as fine a name as Bill. This thought Sam kept to himself, however, and the two got along very well as the miles rolled away beneath them.

Not having traveled to these parts for some time, Sam's gaze roamed everywhere, reveling in the sights and sounds of the Shire. Above all, he delighted in each tree, be they tall and venerable, or saplings but newly sprung. The vibrant hues and earthy scents of autumn worked their special magic upon Sam, and soon he was singing aloud a cheerful song. Acorn flicked his fuzzy brown ears back and forth, seeming to approve of the joyful music.

The sun was riding midway in the clear blue sky, and the day had become fine and warm, when Sam halted his pony in a likely spot.

'Now then, my lad; you've outdid yourself this morning, but we mustn't go any further without a bite and a rest.' Beneath a birch tree Sam laid his pack upon the ground. The pony's reins he looped over a slender branch of the white-barked tree as, above their heads, the delicate yellow-green leaves rustled busily in the breeze. Sam gathered some deadfall branches he found lying nearby, and soon had a small fire going, some distance from the trees. Taking a small pan from his pack, Sam went down to the stream's banks and filled it with water. Using several larger branches, Sam made a tripod on which he hung the pot of water, and left it to boil for tea. Taking up the reins, Sam led the pony to the water's edge, where he sucked greedily at the refreshing water.

'Take it slow there now!' cautioned Sam, leading Acorn back to the trees. 'Too much at once, and you'll have a nasty bellyache! Sam'll let you have more in a bit.' While he waited for the water to boil, Sam sat upon the grass and leaned his back against the tree. He unwrapped a bit of cloth, which held a small loaf of brown bread and a wedge of cheese. Sam tucked into the provender hungrily, chewing with concentration for some time, while the pony snuffled nearby, and cropped the few green shoots of grass he could reach from his tether. All around them, the quiet of the bright afternoon was broken only by the rustle of leaves overhead, the humming of bees in the sweet clover, and the occasional strident call of some brightly colored bird, winging its way swiftly by in the blue sky above them. No other travelers did they encounter. When the water was hot, and the tea had steeped, Sam put out the fire and settled contentedly back under the birch tree, sipping the hot tea gratefully. Afterwards, he, and the pony, dozed.

~

As the day wound down towards evening, the last rays of the sun slanted across the gardens of a long, low fieldstone cottage nestled below the heights of the Tower Hills. The lady of the house, Elanor Fairbairn, was out in the side yard, taking down the dry washing from the clothesline. It had dried quickly, as the day had been fine and breezy. As she unpinned the clothes, Elanor hummed a lighthearted tune; the youngest members of the Fairbairn clan, Blossom and Meriweather, sat contentedly playing in the lush grass at their mother's feet.

Folding another piece of clothing into her basket, Elanor heard the faint wisp of a voice on the air. Wondering if her husband had called to her, she held aside a hanging sheet, looking towards the house. On the Road, still some hundred yards distant from the lane, she could make out a small figure, the dust rising from the road where it came out from the trees and began to wind its way down a small hill towards the house. Curious, Elanor stepped clear of the sheet to watch as the figure approached. Whoever it was, they were riding not a horse, but a pony, she could see now. The voice she had heard came to her again; it was raised in song. Elanor suddenly became very still: she had recognized that nonsense song, and the voice that was singing it. Letting the forgotten clothing fall from her hands, Elanor took off running up the lane, shouting,

'Papa! Papa!' The rider put his pony into a lively trot. They met at the top of the lane, where Sam brought his pony to a halt. Elanor, her eyes alight with joy, stood with one hand clutching the pony's bridle, and pushing her golden curls back from her flushed face with the other. 'Papa!' she said incredulously, and laid her hand upon his knee, 'have you come all this way by yourself?' Sam climbed stiffly down from his pony, and gathered his daughter into his arms.

'My sweet Elanor!' he spoke into her clouds of bright curls. 'My stars, how wonderful it is to see you again!' And they clung to each other for a long while, as the sun dropped lower in the sky.

At last, they walked side by side down the lane towards the house, Sam leading the pony. In the yard, Elanor gathered up the twins, telling them happily,

'This is your grandad!' They grinned with their usual pink-cheeked good humour. Sam fairly beamed, smiling widely.

'What precious little posies you have here!' Sam exclaimed happily. At last, Elanor showed Sam where to stable the pony, telling him, ' Come straight inside and wash up when you've done, Dad,' she told him. 'You're just in time for supper, and it'll be on the table soon!' With a huge smile for her father, Elanor whisked the children into the house. Sam ambled off to stable his pony, possibly the happiest man in the Shire.

~

Supper in the Fairbairn house that evening seemed to Sam like a feast; not only due to the delicious food and generous portions, but the merriment that accompanied it. The children were all filled with excitement at seeing their grandpa Gamgee again, and Sam had the pleasure of fulfilling his wish, to get acquainted with his two newest grandchildren, and to bounce them upon his knee. After the children had been bathed (with much laughter and splashing about,) and put to bed, (complete with stories by grandpa, ) the grownups sat in the parlour by a cheery fire while Elanor served tea and cakes. There was much talk of all the doings in the four farthings, and of relations far and near. There were reminicences of the time Elanor had spent in Gondor, as lady's maid to the Queen Evenstar. And although she recalled those days fondly, Elanor did not regret coming home; what she had in her life now was more than she could have imagined in those days, home and family were her greatest joys. Her husband was the best hobbit in the Shire, she often thought - next to her Dad, of course.

Excusing himself, Sam went off to the room where Elanor had settled him, and opened up one of his saddlebags. Drawing out a large, cloth-wrapped parcel, he carried it back to the parlour. Going over to Elanor, he handed the parcel to her with great ceremony. Curious, Elanor stared a moment at the object which lay heavy in her hands. Sam sat down in the chair opposite, motioning with a wave of his hand:

'Go on, my dear, open it up,' he encouraged. His eyes twinkled in the firelight as, with cautious fingers, she untied the twine that held the cloth in place. Turning back the folds of cloth, Elanor smiled broadly; in her lap lay Mr. Bilbo's book, which, Elanor knew, contained the entire story of Bilbo's grand adventure, and also a chronicle of the War of the Ring, which had been written down carefully by Mr. Frodo's own hand. Elanor knew that Mr. Frodo had given the book into her father's keeping before departing from the Grey Havens for parts unknown. Sam had looked after it lovingly for all these long years. Elanor reached out and caressed the cover with gentle fingers. Her husband, who had never seen it, looked on curiously over her shoulder. Elanor opened the cover and turned a few facing pages; there was the title page, and the next two held maps of Middle Earth, beautifully rendered by Mr. Bilbo's own hand.

The three passed the evening hours reading passages of story and song from the book, while the fire in the hearth burned ever lower. When at last they closed the cover, Elanor rose and made as if to hand hand it back to her father, but Sam held up his hands.

'No, my dear girl, I shan't be taking it with me when I go. I want you to keep it here from now on: to keep it safe, and read the stories to the children, as maybe they'll do with their children, someday. Which is as it should be,' Sam finished.

'Oh, but Dad,' said Elanor in awe; Sam stopped her gently.

'No, now hush child; I kow that you'll take good care with it, and I want you to add any adventures that may come along after my time.' With happy tears in her eyes, Elanor hugged the book tightly to her chest. Then, laying the book reverently upon her chair, she turned and hugged Sam even tighter.

'I'm so glad you came, dad,' she whispered against his chest.

'You're a dear girl, bless your heart, and I love you,' said Sam. 'It's done me a world of good to see you again. Sleep well, my beautiful Elanor.'